


A Supernatural Fairy Tale

by anoradh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Crack, Fairy Tales, Fic Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoradh/pseuds/anoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on a Supernatural fairy tale, starring Dean as the handsome prince, Sam as the fairy godmother and Cas as… Well, I think you’ll be able to guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Supernatural Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nianeyna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nianeyna/gifts).



> This story was written as part of the 2010 Secret Angels fic exchange. The prompts I used were:
> 
> \- FAIRIES. Interpret that however you like.  
> \- Castiel has amnesia. Dean has to ~solve the mystery~ (Look, I know it's been done, okay. There can never be too much amnesia fic, it's like hypothermia that way.)
> 
> Note: Cas doesn’t exactly have amnesia, but something does happen to him and Dean has to solve the mystery. 
> 
> I have made a few simple revisions, but most of it is the same.

”I feel strange”, Castiel said. He sounded about as bemused as a cliffside that suddenly finds itself sliding into the sea.

Dean whipped around to look at him and, sure enough, the angel was looking decidedly peaky. This was not good news. Whoever had lured them into this trap, be it witches, demons or other ickle nasties, had already proven themselves more than capable of messing with Cas’s angelic mojo. They had discovered this immediately upon entering the creepy, old ruin of a building. The door had locked behind them and all their attempts of opening it had failed. Castiel had then announced that he had been deprived of all his powers, so he was essentially about as useless as a human. Okay, so those may not have been the exact words that he had used, but the essence was the same. He had sounded extremely exasperated. Dean had found himself wishing, not for the first time, that whoever had resurrected Cas and restored him to his former glory could have made an effort to soften the angel’s rough edges. Surely one of the advantages of a do-over was the opportunity to improve on the first draft and not just by adding to what was already there?

Unfortunately, Cas’s Father, who was presumably the one had given him life for the second (third?) time, had displayed the selective blindness common to most parents and chosen to disregard his child’s less appealing traits. Thus Dean and Sam were stuck with an angel who, along with an increased mojo, also seemed to have regained that stupid stick up his heavenly backside (and no, Dean had not taken notice of just how heavenly it was). As if this wasn’t bad enough, he was beginning to suspect that the time Castiel had spent among humans (one exceptionally witty human in particular, if he may say so himself) had made the stick grow sprouts of sarcasm and disdain. Either that, or Dean had forgotten just how snarky the angel could be when aggravated.

Usually, Dean could give as good as he got, but at the moment he simply did not have the patience to deal with a cranky angel. He had more pressing matters to attend to, without having to smooth Cas’s ruffled feathers. Such as figuring out who the hell was behind all this and how to get them all out of this alive. That had been worrying enough, but now it was beginning to look as though those SOB’s had poisoned his angel buddy and if that was the case, they would soon find themselves in a world of hurt. All that time he had spent in Hell must come in useful at some point, right? That came later, though. First, they needed to determine what was wrong with Cas. 

“How do you mean _strange_?” Dean asked sharply. “What’s wrong?”

Despite having obvious difficulties fixing his eyes on anything, Castiel managed to pin Dean with one of his trademark “humans are so trying” glares.

“I mean that I feel strange”, he replied in the impatient tone he used whenever he thought Dean was being particularly obtuse, “in a manner that I am unfamiliar with. I can’t explain it, since I don’t recognise the sensation. If I had known what was wrong, I would have told you.”

He raised one hand and ran it over his face, as if to clear it of some invisible cobwebs. His head was beginning to sway from side to side, as if he had had a bit too much to drink. 

“If I didn’t know better”, he continued in the same disgruntled manner, “I would say that I was sleepy.”

Dean exchanged a troubled look with Sam, who was standing close behind the angel, as if he was waiting to catch him if Cas fell. Actually, that was not such a bad idea, Dean realised, as Cas’s entire body began to sway from side to side and his eyelids began to droop. His eyes remained (sort of) fixed on Dean, however, still glaring as if this was all his fault, which, for once, it was not. They could debate the guilt issue later, though, once they were all safely out of here. 

For now, Dean found himself moving forward towards Cas. At the same moment, Cas made a strangely vulnerable noise in the back of his throat and began falling forward towards Dean. Dean reached out his arms to catch him from in front, while Sam rushed forward to catch him from behind. Dean was just bracing himself for the impact, when he suddenly found himself embracing an armful of air. Startled, he looked up at Sam, whose face expressed the same bewilderment that Dean felt. Sam’s astonishment seemed to increase, as he let his eyes move down over his brother’s body. When Dean looked down, he had to pinch himself to determine that this was not a dream.

Gone was his brown leather jacket, gone the blue shirt and the black t-shirt he had worn beneath it and gone were the torn blue jeans. Instead he was dressed in what seemed to be an emerald silk tunic, elaborately embroidered with gold and silver threads on the sleeves. On top of this, he wore a fine black surcoat, also embroidered in silver. Around his waist was a leather belt, onto which a scabbard had been attached containing a relatively light sword. Underneath all this he seemed to be wearing green hose. To top it all off, the flashlight he had been carrying had somehow become a proper torch, its flickering flame softly illuminating the area around them, but seemingly deepening the shadows beyond its limited reach.

Looking up at Sam to somehow convey his horror at this, he was stunned speechless by Sam’s change of wardrobe. His green jacket, blue-and-white flannel shirt, blue t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans had vanished. Now he wore what looked like a cream coloured silk petticoat that had been divided into breeches and adorned with blue and green satin ribbons, a short, blue doublet, turquoise stockings and a pair of floppy, lace-trimmed boots. On his head was a black periwig into which had been tied a number of blue and turquoise ribbons. However, his clothes were not the only thing that had Dean gaping in astonishment. Over Sam’s shoulders, he could see the outlines of a pair of pale blue gossamer wings, like those of a fairytale fairy. The gun that Sam had been clutching had transformed into what looked like fairy’s magic wand, complete with a blue star on top.

Despite the gravity of the situation, what with being trapped in a strange ruin by unknown foes and Cas having been kidnapped by said fiends, Dean could not contain the loud, side-splitting laughter that burst out of him. In all his long and weird years of existence, with all the bizarre and incredible things they had seen, he had never, not once, not even close, seen anything as remotely ridiculous as Sam looked right now. The look of absolute terror that spread across Sam’s face as he looked down at himself just made it that much funnier and he had to lean against the wall for support as his laughter quickly used up all the air in his lungs. Sam’s bitchy glare did nothing to help, as it only increased the hilarity of the moment. Dean had never wished more for a camera in his life, but sadly, his phone seemed to have disappeared with his clothes.

Sam, being an unusually good sport about this (he probably realised that if the roles had been reversed, he would have reacted in exactly the same manner), let him have his fun and waited until Dean’s laughter had at least subsided enough for him breathe before speaking.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny”, he grumbled. “You don’t exactly look like the Terminator yourself. Besides”, he continued, throwing the wand in his hand a dirty look, “what the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

Dean tried to suppress the remaining bubbles of laughter that threatened to burst out of him, he really did, but the best he could do was reduce them to an occasional chuckle.

“I don't know”, he hiccupped, tears streaming from his eyes. “Wave it around like a good fairy?”

He made a vague swishing motion with his hand, before breaking down in helpless laughter again, this time having to slide down the wall to sit on the floor.

"Frickin' hilarious", Sam said bitchily. "I can't believe we have to go through this creepy old house armed with this.

He held up his wand.

 “Well", Dean said in a mock-pensive tone. "We could just stay here and hope for some handsome knight in shining armour to ride in on his white steed and rescue your fairy ass. On the other hand, we may be able to rise above our outfits and rescue our own goddamned selves. Your choice!”

Sammy’s face twisted in the grimace he always made when he had to concede a point to Dean, but he sighed and nodded, the elaborate curls of his periwig bouncing with the movement.

“Fine”, he agreed. “Let’s go! But you’d better be prepared to shove that knitting needle into anything we meet. I am not dying in these clothes!”

Dean nodded.

“Agreed”, he said. “And would you take that damn thing off?” – he nodded at the periwig – “It’s frigging distracting! We’ll never get anywhere if I can’t stop laughing at you.”

Sam raised a hand to his head and attempted to remove the periwig. As he pulled at it, he let out a yelp of pain.

“Oww!” he exclaimed. “That hurt! I don’t think it’s coming off. You’re just gonna have to act mature for once. If you can manage it.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he figured it was not worth it, so he turned around and peered down the hallway in front of him.

“Nothing for it, I guess”, he muttered mostly to himself. “Here goes! I just hope there’s no dragon waiting for us.”

*****

They walked down a narrow corridor surrounded by stone walls covered in ancient, flaking paintwork. The dust was thick at their feet and every few steps, one of them would have to stop to sneeze. Cobwebs hung between the ceiling and the walls, sometimes veiling their passage so that they had to make their way through it. Before long, the sticky substance was clinging to their hands and their faces. They had gone too far to remember where they had come from, yet the corridor stretched out in front of them, seemingly endless. And still no sign of another living being. Not so much as a breeze moved through the hallway and the silence was almost oppressive. It felt as though the whole building was asleep. Of all the creepy places they had visited, this one had to be in the top five of the most eerie list. 

“What did you say this used to be?” Dean asked Sam quietly. It felt strange to break the heavy silence that had fallen between them. His words seem to reverberate through the air, not as an echo, but as something snatched up and carried along by the walls.

“An old mansion”, Sam answered, equally quietly. “It used to belong to this British aristocrat who moved over here in the early 1700s. His family lived here until they were driven out quite bloodily by the Patriots during the War of Independence. After that it passed from owner to owner up until the mid-1900s. Since then, it’s been empty, as far as I know.”

Dean nodded. He could easily imagine this house being empty for half a century. It had that spine-chilling, neglected feeling that old, abandoned houses often had. He turned to glance behind him and every disturbing thought and feeling was immediately banished from his mind by the ludicrousness of Sam’s appearance.

“Man”, he said, turning back to look where he was going, “I sure hope whoever did this to us lets us keep the clothes long enough for me to take pictures. You’ve gotta see what you look like.”

“I’d rather not”, Sam replied and even though Dean wasn’t looking at him, he could hear his nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing”, Dean said in teasing voice.

He heard Sam inhale to answer him, but it ended up coming out as a gasp of surprise. Dean turned around quickly, pulling the sword from its scabbard to protect his brother from any danger. Sam was staring at his wand, which had begun to glow slightly. 

“What the...?” Sam said, before raising the wand in a twitchy movement and beginning to wave it around his head.

Dean looked on, still with his sword in hand, feeling completely at a loss what to do. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, worried that his brother had gone completely insane.

“I – don’t – know”, Sam said through clenched teeth, as though he was struggling against something. “It feels – like – someone’s – holding – my arm. I can’t – get – them – off – me!”

Dean rushed forward, fully intent on grabbing hold of the invisible something that was controlling his brother’s movements like some damn puppet master. He was brought to a halt when his brother’s mouth began to move again. A melodic, unearthly voice, which somehow still sounded like Sam, spoke:

“A maiden fair with raven hair,  
Awaits asleep in the ruins deep,  
The handsome knight to end her plight,  
With a gentle kiss he won’t go amiss”

There was something strange about the speech, however, and not just the bad rhymes. Sam’s lips and the words were out-of-sync, like in those badly-dubbed Japanese movies that Dean had used to watch when he was younger. Before Dean could do more than blink, the voice grew silent and Sam was lowering his wand-hand again, staring at it aghast.

“What the hell?” Dean asked.

“It sounded like something out of a fairytale”, Sam answered. “A maiden fair with raven hair awaiting a handsome knight’s kiss. Do you think there’s a woman in here awaiting rescue? Why the hell would someone bring us here to save some maiden? And what’s with the clothes? And what does that have to do with Cas disappearing? And who the hell was that controlling me?”

“Controlling you?”

“Yeah”, Sam replied. “I couldn’t feel anyone, but it still felt as if someone had taken hold of my arm and was waving it around.”

Dean frowned. What the hell was going on here? He did not like the sound of someone invisible taking control of his brother. Besides, he had never heard of any creature that would be able to do this. Judging by the look on Sammy’s face, he was just as clueless as Dean at the moment.

“Whatever”, Dean said, knowing that standing here would not solve anything. “Let’s move on. We should probably try to find this ‘maiden fair’. Maybe she’ll have some answers.”

*****

Their next clue was given shortly afterwards. They had just managed climbed the stairs that led to the next floor to find themselves in a long hallway where large paintings covered the walls. Dean was standing in front a strangely haunting painting that seemed to depict a forest glade at twilight. There were fairies dancing there, their dresses flowing together to form the appearance of mist, while various other creatures and animals were watching from the shadow of the trees. In the warm, flickering light of his torch, the fairies seemed to be moving and their faces seemed to come alive. Dean was transfixed by one of the fairies, whom he supposed to be the queen. Her dress was more elaborate than those of the other fairies and she was dark-haired where the other fairies’ hair was pale as moonlight. Around her head was a circlet that gleamed like silver and on her forehead there rested a bright gem. She was more beautiful than any being that Dean had ever seen and he found it difficult to tear his eyes away.

Suddenly, he was distracted by the sound of laughter coming from one of what he had believed to be empty rooms that lined the hallway and he turned hurriedly in that direction. The laughter sounded distant, but bright, as of children playing, and he moved that way. Before he could take more than a couple of steps, however, Sam called out to him. He had been examining one of the other paintings, which represented a tall and handsome man, with a stern face but kind eyes. As Dean turned to look at him, Sam’s face twisted again with the effort of shaking someone, or something off. He might as well not have bothered. His wand began to wave and his mouth began to move, as he intoned in that strange voice,

“Trials three await thee;  
Prove thy worth, man of earth.  
Thy sweet prize will then rise;  
For thy pleasure, divine treasure”

Then, just as before, whoever had taken possession of Sam’s voice and body seemed to let go, leaving Sammy looking decidedly disgruntled. He rubbed his wrist and glared at Dean, as if daring him to make a joke, but for once, teasing Sam did not even occur to Dean.

“Trials three?” he asked. “What does that mean? Like traps or something? And my sweet prize, a divine treasure? Is that why they’ve taken Cas? What does this have to do with the chick they mentioned?”

Sam shook his head, his nose wrinkled in that bemusedly disgusted face only he could make. 

“I don’t know”, he said, “but I am getting seriously annoyed. Who was that laughing, by the way?”

Dean shrugged.

“Dunno”, he said. “I was going to investigate, but you decided to go all fairy tale on my ass again.”

Sam’s eyes widened with realisation.

“A fairy tale!” he exclaimed. “Dean, that’s it! We’re in a fairy tale. That’s why we’ve got these weird clothes and that’s why we keep hearing these riddles. It’s like Sleeping Beauty or something, where the prince comes to rescue the sleeping maiden.”

Dean gave him an incredulous look. 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again”, he said. “Could you be any gayer?”

Sam ignored him.

“It makes sense”, he said. “The three trials. Three is a magical number in fairy tales. Having to prove your worth, just like the princes in the fairy tales. The old-fashioned clothes. What I can’t figure out is why the cast you as the handsome knight. It’s usually the younger brother that’s the hero of the story.”

“Yeah, well”, Dean grinned, “I guess they didn’t think you fit the description.”

Sam stuck out his tongue at him, but did not seem able to think of anything to say in response.

“Whatever”, he said. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just move on. We still don’t know who’s behind this and why, so we might as well play along for a while longer.”

“Easy for you to say”, Dean grumbled. “You won’t have to prove your worth through three trials. Where do you fit into the tale anyway?”

“I don’t kn...” Sam stopped himself mid-word. He looked at his wand with a horrified expression on his face. “I’m the fairy godmother”, he breathed, more to himself than to his brother. “I’m here to guide your path.”

Dean’s laughter echoed throughout the deserted hallway.

*****

They reached the end of the hallway without further incident and without stopping to examine any other paintings. Dean was thinking about Cas, wondering where the angel was and if he was okay. He couldn’t bear the idea of the angel being hurt again. Now that Cas had his powers back, Dean had begun to think of him as invulnerable and invincible. He would hate to be proven wrong. The angel had become such a huge part of his life that he simply could not imagine a world without Cas in it. He had realised this during the time that he had spent with Lisa, when nightmares of Sam in Hell had made him never want to go to sleep, but dreams of Cas had made him never want to wake up. Having them both back now was as close to happiness as Dean had ever come. He really did not know what he would do if he lost either of them again.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a movement that he caught out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head in its direction and looked through a door to a huge ballroom. Glancing back at Sam, he took a step towards it. Before he reached it however, Sam gave an infuriated growl that indicated that the invisible being was back. This time, Sam did not even try to fight it off.

“Bold sir knight, with all thy might,  
Slay the beast here released.  
Prove thy bravery and end the slavery  
Of thy fair love from above.”

Dean blinked. He supposed that was straightforward enough. He would have to fight some sort of a beast. Big deal! He did that most days. So far, he had killed demons, vampires, werewolves and wendigos, as well as shape shifters, pagan gods, angels and horsemen, to list only a few. Whoever had trapped them here seemed powerful, but Dean doubted that they were powerful enough to conjure up a beast more terrible than the ones that he had already faced. Alright, so he had usually had better equipment. Fighting a pagan god with a sword and a torch did not sound too appealing. Still, he would just have to hope that the beast could be slain by such means as he had at his disposal.

Sam was frowning, apparently mulling the riddle over. Knowing his brother’s careful nature, Dean felt sure that he was trying to think of the best way to approach the fight. Unlike Dean, he would not want to just rush in, hoping for the best. He would want to be prepared.

“A house this big, I’m sure there’s a library somewhere”, Dean said dryly. “Just in case you want to do some research. I mean, there’s no rush or anything. I’m sure whoever is keeping us here would be happy to leave us alone for a while and Cas can wait. A few hours won’t make any difference.”

Sam looked at him as if he had grown two heads, which, considering what had happened to them so far, did not seem entirely impossible.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You just had that college boy look on your face”, Dean explained. “The one you get when there’s a puzzle to be solved, preferably one that involves looking up loads of information.”

Sammy shook his head.

“No”, he said. “There’s just something about these riddles. I feel like there’s something there that I should be seeing, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Dean shrugged.

“Well, while you’re thinking, do you think we can go slay this beast? Only, I’m beginning to feel a bit nervous standing out here in the open and I’d prefer to just get it over with.”

“Yeah”, Sam said, still sounding distracted. “Yeah, of course.”

They walked through the door into the room where Dean had seen movement, somehow knowing that that was where the fight would take place. Dean had barely crossed the threshold when something jumped onto his back and was scrabbling at his surcoat with thin, clawed fingers. He let out a yell of surprise and grabbed the creature’s arms, prising them away from his neck and managing to throw the creature off. The being was small and manlike, with leathery skin and long, straggly hair. His eyes were red, his body emaciated and the teeth that were currently bared in a snarl were sharp and protruding. On his head he wore a red cap that looked to have been made out of some sort of hide. With a shout of fury, he launched himself upwards again. Dean barely had time to draw his sword, before the creature was upon him, struggling with all his might to tear at Dean’s throat with his sharp nails and teeth.

Behind him, Dean heard Sam gasp, but he had no time to spare for his brother. He fought to keep the creature from ripping his jugular open, while trying to stab it with the sword. Unfortunately, the creature was too close for him to get at it properly.

“What the hell is this?” he shouted to Sam.

“A redcap”, Sam answered. “It must have been what killed all those travellers. It’s a type of goblin from Scottish and Irish folklore. They like to hide in old, abandoned houses, where they can surprise their victims and drink their blood. That cap it wears has been died in human blood.”

“Thanks for the lesson”, Dean grunted, managing to push the creature a few inches further away, but gaining a slash across his forearm for it, “but I’m more interested in how to kill the effing thing.”

“I don’t know”, Sam replied, sounding miserable. “I can’t remember. I read about it during our research, but I didn’t think we’d be likely to find one outside of Europe, so I didn’t bother to memorise it. It was something simple, I think.”

Dean yelped in pain as the redcap bit his shoulder and with a tremendous effort, he managed to throw it off again.

“Great to know”, he panted, not taking his eyes off his adversary. “Let me know if you think of it, will you?”

The creature rose from the floor again and rushed at Dean, who quickly raised his sword. The redcap did not stop, but ran forward, impaling himself on the sword. There was a gurgle deep in his throat and his red eyes seemed to blur. Dean relaxed slightly, marvelling at the ease with which he had apparently slain the redcap.

“Huh”, he said. “Never mind. I think I figured it out on my own.”

But Sam had rushed forward towards them.

“No, Dean!” he shouted. “That wasn’t it. It isn’t de...”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the inhuman wail that rose from the redcap, as it wrenched the sword from Dean’s hands and tore it from its own body. With dark blood gushing from the wound, it threw the sword aside and flew at Dean for the third time. Dean was too slow in raising his arms and he felt the creature’s teeth pierce the collar of his surcoat and graze his skin.

”’Be strong and courageous‘”, Sam’s voice suddenly rang out. ”’Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.’”

The redcap howled with frustration and terror, before disappearing with a loud crack. Something small fell to the floor at Dean’s feet and he bent down to pick it up. It was a small, sharp tooth. Dean turned around to look at Sam.

“Remembered, did you?”

Sam nodded, looking slightly wide-eyed and incredibly relieved.

“Redcaps disappear when you quote the Scripture”, he said. “I don’t know if there’s any way to actually kill them. According to what I read, the only way they can die is if they can’t find any victims and their cap dries out.”

Dean opened his mouth, but could not think of a single thing to say to that, so he closed it again and shook his head.

“Our lives, man”, he sighed.

“I know”, Sam agreed.

“So why’d you choose that particular passage?” Dean asked, as they walked back into the hallway.

“Dunno. It just came to me.”

Dean snorted.

“Divine inspiration?”

Sam gave him a half-hearted glare.

“Something like that”, he said. “Think it’ll be enough? For you to pass the trial, I mean.”

Dean shrugged, but did not answer. He had been wondering the same thing. Raising his uninjured arm, he touched his neck. There were scratches there, but they were only superficial and the bleeding had already stopped. The gash in his forearm looked deeper. Looking around for something to bind it with, his eyes fell on the ribbons on Sam’s petticoat shorts. His brother protested when Dean suddenly grabbed at one of the wider ribbons. He immediately seemed to realise what Dean was after, however, so he stood still while Dean cut if off with his sword. Tying the ribbon around his arm, Dean nodded in satisfaction. He motioned to Sam to keep walking, hoping that the redcap would not return.

 

*****

“So what do you think the next trial will be?” Dean asked, as they walked down yet another dark hallway. They had reached the third floor.

“How should I know?” Sam asked, sounding irritated. He kept scratching his head. Apparently, the periwig was really itchy.

“Well, you seem to be the fairy tale expert. Isn’t there some sort of formula for these things? Like trial one: courage, trial two: blahdah, trial three: doodah.”

Sam looked at him, distracted from his itching scalp.

“Blahdah and doodah?”

Dean raised the sword he was still holding and pointed it forward, trying to release some of his pent-up tension.

“I don’t know”, he said, stabbing the air. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked, would I?”

Sam went back to scratching his head, the wings on his back fluttering with the movement of his arm. Dean was tempted to say something about the winged monkeys from The Wizard of Oz, but he didn’t want to let on that he actually knew one fairy tale (sort of).

“I guess there are some standard trials”, Sam said after a moment’s silence. “Courage, wit, strength, kindness, purity of heart, stuff like that. Can’t say which ones will appear here, though.”

Dean did not answer, so they trudged on in silence. Dean was growing tired of just walking, waiting for something to happen. It put his nerves on edge. 

Fortunately, he did not have to wait for long.

“Dean...” Sam had stopped and the look on his face was unmistakeable. It was happening again.

“A riddle writ to test thy wit,  
Find the clue to the answer true.  
Pass this trial and a smile  
Of celestial light will prove thee right.”

“Oh, great!” Sam commented sardonically, as soon as he had regained control of his own body. “A riddle to test thy – er, your – wit. This should be fun.”

Dean flipped him off, saying,

“Bitch!”

“Jerk!”

“Let’s just find this riddle, shall we? I’m getting really sick of this.”

“How ‘bout in there?” Sam asked, looking over Dean’s shoulder at something. Turning around, Dean saw that a soft light was emanating from one of the rooms.

“I thought the light was supposed to come after I’ve answered the riddle”, he said.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“To prove my point”, he mumbled. “You were supposed to be answered by a smile, not a light.”

“’A smile of celestial light’. There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, Sammy. Besides, how do you know it’s the light that’s metaphorical and not the smile, eh? Not so stupid now, am I?”

Sam waved his wand at him in a dismissive gesture that looked way too practised and Dean bit back a chuckle. 

“Just get on with it, will you?” Sam said.

*****

The room that they entered seemed to be the library. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with dusty old books that made Sam’s eyes bright with hunger. Dean sighed, but said nothing, as his brother walked over to one of the shelves and began to read the titles on the worn spines.

“Edmund Spenser, Shakespeare, Goethe, Rudyard Kipling, J.M. Barrie, Tolkien”, Sam read. “All first editions, it seems. That's quite a collection.”

“Who cares?” Dean asked. “Where’s the riddle?”

Sam looked around, running his gaze over the room. His eyes caught on something on the far wall, between two of the tall windows.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Dean followed his gaze to see an ornate silver frame surrounding a verse written in ornate writing. Walking over, he read the words,

“In moonlight bright of silver light  
Queen Titania dances this night.  
Her shadowy hair and face so fair  
holds beauty beyond mortal compare.

In dress arrayed of spiders made  
She flutters graceful through shrouded glade.  
On her brow shining in silver lining  
The gem of starlight softly reclining.

Her fairies all attend her ball  
gracing the court of her forest hall.  
In pale mist swaying, laughing and playing,  
as night becomes dawn and the sky is greying.

The sun rises too soon, slaying the cold moon,  
and ends the time of the fairies’ boon.  
The revels ending, the fairies sending  
into the forest quickly blending.

“What the...?” Dean just gaped at the verse. “That can’t be it. It’s not a riddle.”

Sam, however, was looking pensive. He was reading the words again and again. 

“I don’t know”, he said after a while. “This doesn’t remind you of something?”

Dean gave him a strange look and opened his mouth to make a joke, when an image appeared in his mind. He recalled seeing a forest scene where fairies were dancing. In their midst was a woman with dark hair and a bright gem on her forehead. His eyes widened in realisation.

“Downstairs”, he blurted out. “The painting. It was this scene.”

Sam’s head turned towards him so fast, Dean was surprised and relieved that his neck didn’t snap.

“Where?” Sam demanded sharply. “Show me!”

*****

They more or less ran through the hallways, still keeping a wary eye open for the reappearance of the redcap, and skidded to a halt in front of the painting that Dean had been studying earlier. Sam immediately began running his hands along the frame. Dean, seeing what he was doing, helped him examine the painting.

It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for. A hidden mechanism made the painting swing forward and reveal to them a staircase, at the top of which a light was shining. Glancing at each other and shrugging at the same time, they moved cautiously up the steps. Dean went first with his sword raised and Sam followed, apparently unaware that he was holding his wand up as a weapon.

When they reached the top, they found a small room with a round table, some chairs, an armchair and an open fireplace, in which a friendly fire was burning. Looking up, they found that the ceiling had been painted. A face of infinite wisdom and kindness was smiling down at them. 

“See”, Sam said triumphantly. “A smile. I was right.” 

As much as he would have liked to, Dean could not argue. The angel was gazing down at them with love and benevolence such as Dean suspected real angels to be incapable of feeling. Except for Cas, of course, Dean thought affectionately. Still, everyone knew he was the one exception to prove the rule. With a sudden pang, Dean realised that they had somehow forgotten about Cas. They had been so caught up in the “quest” that they had lost sight of what they were trying to achieve. 

“Let’s go”, he said gruffly to Sam. “Maybe Cas is somewhere around here.” 

Sam did not appear to hear him. His face had gone sour again and his shoulders had sunk in an attitude of forced relaxation. Then the hand that held the wand began to wave it around again and the strange, melodic voice spoke, 

“This final trial bears no denial;   
Know thine heart in every part.   
Thine one true love, ruler thereof,   
Sleepeth nearby in tower high,   
Until thine eyes drop all disguise   
And choose aright thy true delight.” 

Sam let out a whooshing breath of exasperation and grumbled, 

“Please Lord, let that be the last one. I can’t take this language abuse any longer.” 

Dean did not pay attention. He was frowning, trying to understand the clue. It did not make sense. 

”I don’t get it”, he admitted finally. ”What am I supposed to be denying?” 

Sam shrugged, also looking nonplussed. 

”How the hell am I supposed to know?” he asked. ”You’re supposed to be denying it. That sort of implies that you wouldn’t have discussed it with me.” 

”Aren’t you supposed to be the perceptive one?” Dean grumbled. ”You’re always trying to tell me what I’m thinking and feeling, but now that I’m actually asking, you have no suggestion?” 

Sighing, Sam shrugged, his wings flexing. Standing as he was against the light, the gossamer appendages gave the impression of eerie and otherworldly shadows. They seemed much more part of the fairy world that they were supposed to imitate than the mockery that Dean assumed they had been intended as. They reminded him of the shadowy wings that Cas had shown him the first time that they had met and he remembered the stunned awe that he had felt. 

He almost smiled, struck by how much Cas had evolved since then and how their relationship had changed. Back then, their meetings had been fraught with tension and distrust. Cas had been a necessary nuisance, made unavoidable by the debt of gratitude and the threat of unknowable power that he represented. The alliance and the tentative understanding that had grown between them in the time before Lucifer’s release had since turned into a close friendship and Dean did not want to imagine his life without the angel. His fear for his friend intensified and his worry made him irritable and unfair. 

”Well, make a guess!” he snapped. ”Everyone says you’re the brains of the outfit. Prove it!” 

Sam glared at him, but his heart did not seem to be in it. Dean suspected that Sam knew the reason for his frustration. 

”’Know thy heart in every part’”, he quoted. ”I’d say it has something to do with love. Are you in love with someone but don’t want to admit it?” 

”Of course not”, Dean said, but his face flushed slightly as a suspicion struck him. He suddenly remembered his dreams, in which a certain being’s presence featured prominently and inspired feelings of peace and happiness. He forced these thoughts to the back of his mind, telling himself that they had no relevance in their current situation. They were dreams, that was all, and they meant nothing. Cas was a friend, nothing more. He had saved Dean from Hell and he had been his guardian and his confidant for a long time. It was only natural that he had come to represent safety and security in Dean’s mind. That was all. That had to be all. 

At this last, somewhat defiant thought, there came a creaking sound from somewhere behind Dean and he turned around to look at the panelled wall behind him. It had seemed whole and undivided, but now Dean noticed a small crack in the panels. Exchanging a surprised look with Sam, he walked over and examined it. 

”What is it?” Sam asked tensely. 

”A hidden door”, Dean replied. ”Don’t ask me how it opened, though. Must be some hidden mechanism, like with the painting.” 

”Maybe it’s broken”, Sam suggested. ”Maybe that’s why it opened without us doing anything.” 

Dean nodded, but did not feel entirely convinced. It seemed a bit of a strange coincidence that the door had opened just as those particular thoughts had run through his mind. Taking a deep breath, he moved into the passage to find a steeply winding staircase. With Sam’s reassuring presence at his back, he walked up the stairs, waving aside cobwebs with his torch and sneezing as their footsteps stirred up the dust. 

*****

At the top of the staircase they found another room, this one circular. Dean did not recall the mansion having a tower, but he supposed that it was not beyond the powers of the unknown beings that had trapped them here to add one if they pleased. The room was almost empty, with grey stone walls and a cold stone floor. Like the rest of the building, it looked ancient and abandoned, as if no one had set foot there for at least a century. In the middle of the room stood a bed covered by a silvery blue canopy. Silken drapes hung around the bed, obscuring its occupant from sight, revealing only the faintest outline of a body lying motionless inside. 

Striding over to the bed, Dean pushed the draperies aside to reveal an expected sight. Cas’s dark head lay on the pillow, his blue eyes closed and his face relaxed, as though asleep. Putting his hand against Cas’s forehead, Dean felt the warmth of his skin and sighed with relief. He was alive and he seemed unharmed. 

Sam came to stand beside him, looking down at the sleeping angel. 

”’A maiden fair with raven hair’”, he quoted. ”I guess Cas should be glad he isn’t wearing a dress.” 

Dean looked down at what little he could see of Cas’s body above the covers. Gone was the tan, unflattering trench coat, gone the ill-fitting suit, the loose tie, the rumpled shirt. Cas’s shoulders and arms were bare and pale against white silk sheets, looking deceptively bony and fragile. He bent over the angel slightly. 

”Cas”, Dean said softly, trying to wake the angel. Nothing happened. He repeated the name somewhat more loudly and touched the angel’s shoulder. Still nothing. 

”This isn’t normal sleep, Dean”, Sam pointed out. ”I don’t think we’re just going to be able to wake him like that.” 

”You got any better ideas?” Dean asked, feeling irritable again. 

”This is your trial”, Sam said mildly. ”I think you’re supposed to figure it out.” 

Dean did not take his eyes off the sleeping angel. Unbidden, a thought flew through his mind that he had never seen Cas look so beautiful before. The angel looked peaceful and at ease, no dark frown marring his features, no worldly or otherworldly concerns throwing their shadows on his face. It made Dean’s heart ache to see the angel like this and suddenly, he wished nothing more than to be able to see this look on the angel’s face more often. 

He bent down, close to Cas’s ear, and whispered so quietly that he hoped Sam could not hear him, 

”Cas. It’s me, Dean. It’s time to wake up, angel. I’m sorry it took us so long to get here. I’m sorry it took _me_ so long to get here. Come on now. Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty!” 

As the last couple of words passed his lips, the answer suddenly struck him with blinding clarity. He could not believe that he had not seen it before. Sam had even said it earlier and the clues had pointed it out to them. Without looking away from Cas, he said over his shoulder to Sam, 

”Would you do me a favour, Sammy? Turn around for a minute, okay?” 

He heard Sam’s clothes and wings rustle slightly as his brother obeyed, for once without question. Dean did not stop to consider what that meant; that Sam most likely knew what he was about to do. He took a deep breath to steady himself and hopefully to get his racing heart to stop beating so erratically. Leaning a hand on the pillow next to Cas’s head, he bent down over his angel. He kept his eyes fixed on the handsome face until the features blurred together, and he placed a gentle kiss on the angel’s dry, but soft lips. 

Pulling back slightly, Dean watched as Cas’s eyes fluttered and opened, just as there was the rustling of real wings behind him and a voice exclaimed, 

”Finally!” 

Tearing his eyes away from the blue depths in which he had been drowning – seriously, who was the maiden here, really? - Dean turned around and gaped in astonishment at the shortish, brown-haired man that was standing there. Beside him was an ugly creature with brownish green skin, small goat-like horns on his head and an even stronger gleam of mischief in his eyes than even his companion had. 

Cas and Sam gasped in unison, 

”Gabriel!”, just as Dean said, 

”Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” 

The archangel beamed at them, apparently delighted at their reactions. 

”Guess Daddy wasn’t quite ready to let me go just yet! I’ve been planning this reunion party for some time now, but I wanted to make it special. I had to wait for the right opportunity. You can’t imagine how happy I was when you guys decided to investigate this building. You really had no idea what you were walking into, were you? Typical Winchesters!” He shook his head, still grinning, while Sam and Dean looked exasperatedly at each other. ”You thought this would just be your run-of-the-mill monster hunt of the week. Instead, you stumbled straight into the land of Faerie. This is Oberon and Titania’s realm and they do not take kindly to uninvited visitors. It was fortunate for you, really, that I was here to smooth things over.” He gestured to his companion. ”This is Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, as he is also known. He’s helped me out. I didn’t want my little bro here to sense my presence too soon, so Robin did most of the groundwork. He’s the one who came up with the outfits. He always did have a sense for fashion.” 

The ugly creature bowed in acknowledgement. 

”I’m glad you appreciate my talent, Loki”, he said in an unexpectedly melodic and unearthly voice. 

”The wings were an especially nice touch”, Gabriel complimented him. ”Really, Sam, I think you’ve missed your calling.” 

”Shut up, Gabriel, or I’ll finally find a suitable use for this thing”, Sam replied, brandishing his wand threateningly. 

Gabriel just laughed and continued his explanation, turning to Dean this time. 

”I was growing tired of watching you and my brother dance around each other like ballerinas, so I decided to do something about it. Glad you finally decided to get with the program, thicko! I was beginning to worry that our clever hints would be too much for your limited intelligence.” 

Dean flipped him off, but was somehow too content to feel really bothered by the insult. 

”Anyway, that’s it, I guess! I could tell you the details of the hows and the whys, and the wheres and the whats, but I like to keep a bit of mystery and besides I’m bored. What do you say we move this party somewhere else? Titania is dying to meet you. Especially you, Sam. She always did have a thing for the bad guys. Shall we?” 

He snapped his fingers and they found themselves standing in a glade very reminiscent of the one Dean had seen depicted in the painting. Before them, Titania was standing, even more radiantly beautiful than in the painting, Beside her stood a tall, imposing man with a stern face and a rare mixture of wisdom and wildness in his eyes. 

”Welcome”, he said. ”You have been invited to take part of something that few mortals have ever witnessed. The fairies hold their ball here tonight and ask that you share in their revelries. Eat! Drink! Dance! Be merry! Celebrate this night! Tomorrow morn we will be gone and naught but memories will remain. For now, let the dreams that we here weave become your reality. Let the feasting begin!” 

He clapped his hands and from the trees, the court of fairies emerged, laughing and singing and playing and dancing. Some carried trays, laden with foods and drinks, all made from what the forest provided. They swarmed around the visitors, curious and eager, whispering and giggling and staring in fascination. 

Dean suddenly became aware of a warm hand in his own and he looked down to find himself clutching Cas’s hand. His first instinct was to let go, but the angel’s hand was warm and it fit so perfectly in his that it felt as though it had been made for him to hold. Looking up at his friend’s face, he saw a tender smile and a look of timid joy in the bright blue eyes. He returned the smile and reached up with his other hand to caress the angel’s face, uncaring of the many eyes upon them. As Oberon had said, this was but a dream and he intended to enjoy it. 

”Come”, he whispered. ”Let’s find a place to hold our own revelries! Nothing against fairy tales and dreams, but I’ve always preferred the x-rated versions.”


End file.
